Put the Blame on Mame
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: “When it came to removing gloves, Rita Hayworth didn’t stand a chance.” [Hints of GS]


**Title**: Put the Blame on Mame

**Summary**: "When it came to removing gloves, Rita Hayworth didn't stand a chance." [Hints of G/S]

**Author's Notes**: I'm on a random old movies kick at the moment. Between this story and another one that will eventually be done, I've managed to make three references that most people won't get. This one features references to two of film's greatest (and lesser known) sex symbols- Greta Garbo and Rita Hayworth. You probably don't want to know.

And for anybody waiting for updates on any of my WIPs.. it may be a week or so, once Easter Weekend starts. I've been so busy lately I haven't been able to focus on plotting actual storylines. There's been an abundance of pointless stories though!

**Disclaimer**: If I owned CSI, I wouldn't have to be so tempted to read spoilers for the finale. So, yeah… don't sue. 

~... .....-*-... .....~

Grissom was pretty sure it was Greta Garbo who said "I never said, 'I want to be alone.' I said, 'I want to be left alone.' There is a world of difference." He said pretty sure, though pretty sure was a long way from positive. Still, that's who he would have attributed it to. He did that sometimes, miscrediting a quote. Nobody had ever caught on, but he suspected that if anyone ever did it would be her.

It was odd the way his mind had chosen to refer to Sara as 'her' without his consent. But, in its way, fitting. He had told himself early on that if he was just a big younger, or better suited to her tastes, or in a better position he would have pursued her. But the truth was he was fifteen years her senior, and her direct supervisor. And to tell himself that he would have taken her up if it wasn't for those factors… well, he was lying.

But he digressed. The point was Greta Garbo- whom Alistair Cooke once said was every man's fantasy mistress because "She gave you the impression that, if your imagination had to sin, it could at least congratulate itself on its impeccable taste." - had known enough about loneliness to be so eloquently profound. He had to admire that in her.

From across the room, Nick and Sara nodded to acknowledge his arrival at the scene. It was funny, but ever since the promotion had been announced, they had regained their old friendly dynamic. Nick took the role seriously, and it had certainly enabled him to think more independently. Which was an area Sara needed no help in, never had. That fact had made it easier to justify the promotion while denying "this" had anything to do with it. Looking back on the time of decision, Grissom could only conclude that he had made the right choice for the wrong reason. He was sorry though that he could disappoint her in the professional setting; God knew what he'd do to her personally.

Trying to distract himself, he examined the scene. It looked pretty straightforward- a suicide. Room tidied, letter written, gun on the desk. Knowing his two CSIs could handle it, he took the chance to watch them work. He knew he'd have to head back to the lab in a few minutes- tackling that stack of papers was a never-ending nightmare in his life, and he had spent too much time in the field lately. 

Nick had picked up the note, holding it in a way so that both of them could read it. Sara leaned over, flipping her hair out of the way as she did so. Sociologists had done research, and their findings had one purpose for hair flipping- flirtation. Essentially a variation on a bird flapping its wings to attract a mate. Of course, the sociologists hadn't studied _Sara_, and she was probably just getting her hair out of her face.

She was beautiful, both as a specimen and as a person. And as far as left-field thoughts went, that one had stopped surprising him long ago. But, he acknowledged as he watched her process with an almost superhuman efficiency, in truth she was. The concept intrigued him… too often one could only be found without the other present. But not Sara. Never Sara. Sara had that sweet smile that could easily turn into a grin, if you knew which buttons to push.

Grissom knew. He had spent the entire course of their acquaintanceship studying the subtleties of that grin: clever double entendres and hidden stores of knowledge were rewarded, but never compliments on her appearance. Modesty perhaps, though Grissom suspected it ran deeper than that. 

"Sara?"

At first, Grissom thought he had called her name. It was Nick though, and his voice was a lot more controlled than Grissom's suspected his would be. For all his years of experience, his voice didn't always work around Sara of late. Well that was entirely true; it worked, but inadequately. Never able to suitably express what he meant to say.

Against his better judgment, he chose this moment to glance at her; he was rewarded with one of the most oddly erotic scenes he would ever see. When it came to removing gloves, Rita Hayworth didn't stand a chance.

She tugged at each finger slowly, then slipped one digit under the latex at the wrist. She inched the glove off her hand, stopping halfway to ask Nick for an envelope. He obliged, and the removal of her gloves was announced by a snap. 

The second glove was removed in the same manner, and she quickly scrawled on the case identifiers. Sara sealed and tucked the envelope into a box, bending to grab another pair of gloves from her kit. Before returning to work, Sara glanced up- towards but not at him. Seeing Grissom's stare, she gave a tentative smile and stood up.

"Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?" she joked, sidling beside him.

"I have a sudden urge to watch _Gilda_."

"How does that… you know Grissom, I'm not even going to ask."

"Have you seen it?"

"No…" Sara answered, obviously wondering what the relevance was.

"You should. It's a very good film. The art house is showing it this Thursday."

"Well, if I had Thursday off I'd go see it."

"You do. Catherine needed Tuesday… I sent you a memo."

"A memo? You could have just … never mind. I'll see it, on your recommendation. And if I hate it…" she mock-warned. 

"You'll like it. And go to the early show," he suggested. "Less people."

"Alright," she said, more to appease his new insanity then an actual agreement. "I have to get back to work…"

"By all means," he said, dismissing her. 

She went back to the desk to bag the last of its contents and Grissom headed back to the lab. Alone again, Nick turned to Sara.

          "_Gilda_?" he asked.

          Sara shook her head, amusement and confusion causing her curiosity to pique. "I'm not sure. It's just Grissom."

………….

Feedback appreciated. **:-)**


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